


Requiem

by bzarcher, solarbird



Series: The Wizard Triumphant [6]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Beginnings, Emotional Baggage, Endings, F/F, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Memories, Multi, Odile - Freeform, Odile!AU, Post-Talon, Reprogrammed!Widowmaker, Slipstream - Freeform, Talon!Tracer, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 02:10:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher, https://archiveofourown.org/users/solarbird/pseuds/solarbird
Summary: The more Angela Ziegler spoke to Slipstream, the more she realized that she needed to say goodbye to the friend she had lost.





	1. your attendance is hardly expected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors’ Notes:
> 
> This was an unplanned and wonderfully unexpected entry into the series that came about when Solarbird came to me with an idea - that Angela Ziegler was planning a memorial service for Lena Oxton, and threw me the start of a dialogue that we started tossing back and forth until we essentially had the first chapter of this story.
> 
> We decided to turn it into a collaboration and began writing the second and third chapters, finding the puzzle pieces and making things fit, merging our styles and working together to make sure everything was true to the characters as they've developed in this series.
> 
> It's been a lot of fun, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed working together to write it. -- bzarcher
> 
> Archer has already said pretty much everything I’d say, except - thanks for letting me play in your world for a little while. I was pretty sure there were things some of these characters needed to say, and … I’m really glad you agreed.
> 
> I think we made something really good. I hope everybody likes the result. -- solarbird
> 
> From a timeline perspective, this story takes place after Ch. 15 of Circumvention, but before the events in the first chapter of Reciprocity.

“You want to do  _ what?” _

"I -  _ We _ \- decided to hold a memorial service for Lena Oxton," Angela said, quietly. "Your attendance is... hardly expected."

Slipstream looked confusedly at Angela, just returned from town, where she had been running an errand she’d declined to explain, until now.

"We’d never had time for one, before - everything fell apart so quickly, and there were so many dead - some at your hands. And we didn't understand what had happened - not really."

Slipstream stared for a long moment. “I’m… yeah. Guess you wouldn’t, really.”

She shouldn’t smile, she knew that, but Slipstream couldn’t help but feel a strange sort of relief. To be treated as her own person. To have it acknowledged that Lena was gone, and not coming back. She understood why Angela would be sad, but she still felt a bit like doing a cartwheel. 

She did her best to rein that joy in, keeping it out of her voice as much as she could. “I shouldn’t be there. You’re right. Not even a bit fuckin’ appropriate at all. But if there’s going to be a wake or something… I’d go to that. Odile, too. Long as someone won’t shoot us for showing up, anyway.”

Angela nodded, frowning, a little. It wasn't for Lena, of course, and _certainly_ not for Slipstream. It was for the rest of them, to finally close that door held too long open. But...

"You'd... you would... _want_ to go to a wake, afterwards? Why?" The doctor’s frown turned into a glare. "Everything you've ever said about her has been about hating her, about about never wanting to hear that name again, never wanting Lena to have ever even existed. Why ... why would you want to come to her wake? To _gloat?"_

Slipstream looked over to where Odile was doing more of her physical therapy exercises, watching her a moment while she tried to find a way to explain it, stiffening at Angela’s burst of anger.

“I don’t want to be _called_ that name. I don’t want to _be_ her. I don’t want people to _make_ me her!” She could feel her anger taking off and tried to clamp down on it. “She’s gone. I didn’t have any choice in it. She’s gone, and I’m here. But… I owe her a drink for that at least.”

Angela's posture shifted, and she blinked, hard, eyes suddenly wet, and she shuddered a little. "Oh, god... I... I..." She shook her head, confused by her own reaction, so large but so unfocused, a glob of knotted emotions lurching out all at once. "I... I don't even know what that was. I did not… expect that answer. I had no idea - I honestly thought you might actually want to... " She sniffed, and dabbed at her nose with a tissue. “But. Clearly, not. I’m glad, for that.”

The assassin turned away, not comfortable meeting the doctor’s eyes. “You’re going to have some stories. Talk about her. Tell me why she mattered, outside the shit Talon put in my head. Make me...make me laugh with you. Let me hear the stuff she’d never want to get out. Act like I’m her cousin from New Zealand or something. Just... put that line in the ground, and keep it there.”

The doctor’s eyebrows raised, and she shook her head and looked around, thinking about who was here, and who, more importantly, was not. "I think... with the people who are present, we could hold that wake. Perhaps. I have some ideas about where to hold the memorial, but the wake itself could be here, at the Chateau, if you are serious. I've also talked with Fareeha, a little - it has been very complicated between us for a while, but she told me about your visit when she... well, you know all that. She will be coming, too."

Slipstream nodded, biting her lip as she tried to process Angela’s complex set of reactions. “I guess it’ll be ....nice? To see her? Amari. We did ok. Talked shop, mostly. Kept it professional. I think it’ll work.”

Angela nodded, slowly, and even managed a ghost of a smile. "Good. I will let her know. But…” The doctor straightened, tall. "Do you _really_ want to know who Lena Oxton was to us? The others... the others  _you_ killed... will come up in that, and some emotions may still be very raw. Can you control yourself, if it stops being easy?" She looked, eyes hard, towards the assassin. "... _when_  it stops being easy?"

Slipstream didn’t turn around right away. She took a deep breath, then turned around, meeting Angela’s eyes. “I’ll be honest. I don’t know. But I am going to give my best effort.” She swallowed, her stomach clenching as she made a decision.  _ Guess I had to tell someone else eventually.  _  “Sombra will be there. Odile. Satya. Between the three of them...” She shrugged. “If I’m going to be my own person...not Talon’s or anyone else’s...if I’m going to be _Ellie_. Yeah. I need to do this. And if it means taking some lumps and keeping my gob shut, I’ll do my best.”

A thought struck and her attention drifted slightly as she looked over at the window. “Could always tell Satya to make me a gag. You suppose people have asked her for stuff like that? If I had a magic arm to make stuff I sure as hell...” She coughed, and dragged her focus back. “Sorry. Yeah. Anyway.”

Angela blinked, and raised her hands towards her mouth, shuddering, no, not shuddering, shaking just a little, and she...

...giggled.

"I..." She laughed, not sure if she wanted to stop herself, through the remnants of tears. "I ... had never given that very much thought."

Slipstream let herself relax slightly as she joined in the laugh, a bit of nervousness in her giggle. “I mean _seriously!”_

Angela looked, and thought, and decided. _Well, there’s no time to test it like the present._ "If I’d said, 'that's the dirtier version of a joke Lena would've made,' would you’ve pulled your pistols? Because if you can't handle _that_ , then... we already have our answer.” She paused, a moment, before continuing. “I'm not Sombra - I'm not poking at you for fun. I ... I think I would like this to work. For ... us. Those of us who knew Lena." She closed her eyes for a moment, and reopened them. "For _me_. So _I_ can move on."

Slipstream felt a little clench in her stomach. She was probably _always_ going to feel that. But… ’would have made’ was different enough. She’d live. “Yeah. I can do.”

Angela paused for a moment, and looked back up, meeting Slipstream's eyes. "Ellie... Guillard, I presume?" She thought about it. "It is a good name." As she said it, as she formed the words and said them, she felt something shift in her head, a small thing, but a heavy thing, and she blinked at the woman in front of her, and for the first time, did not see Lena Oxton.

“Thanks. I like it.” Ellie looked over to Odile again, a soft smile stealing across her face. “She likes it. S’good.”

The doctor coughed, and wiped her hand across her mouth for no particular reason, not sure what to say, for a moment. She blinked a couple of times, looking at the woman before her. "It's... it helps. More than I think I expected." She extended a hand, carefully. "I think... I think it is actually nice to meet you, at last... Ellie."

“Yeah...” Ellie’s voice held a bit of soft surprise in it. Almost a bit of disbelief as she took the offered hand. “You too, Angela. You, too.”

Angela stood there, holding the hand, and her lips shook, and all at once the long-held tears fell, and fell, and fell, like rain. "I'm, I'm, I'm, I'm sorry, this is... this is very much to … I ... I miss her _so much..."_

Ellie hesitated as Angela began to cry. She wasn’t the best at this under any circumstances, but especially  _ these. _ Finally she stepped into the doctor’s space and awkwardly tried to give her a one armed hug, not really sure if she should let go of her other hand. “I...yeah. I’m...sorry isn’t the right word. Because I’m glad I’m alive. But...condolences, I guess. I think...I think she’d have missed you, too.”

Angela coughed, and, carefully, gave _Ellie_ , she stressed to herself, a little bit of a hug. "I'm, I'm sorry, that was very un-Swiss of me, and should be saved for the memorial. It is what it is for, after all." She sniffed, and wiped at her eyes, and smiled a little bit more at the younger woman. “But... thank you. Thank you, _Ellie_. That... carries some weight with it, from you. Despite everything. Or perhaps because of it."

Ellie couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped her at that. “Yeah. I guess it does. You’re welcome.” She smiled a bit nervously, but there was some genuine pleasure there, beneath the slight uncertainty. “I guess that’s probably a good start. If people mention something or I… I get a bit or piece of it. Just say she told me about it once. Something like that.”

Angela played around with that in her head, a little confused by the phrasing. "You mean... if you get a bit of _her_ memories, evoked by someone's story?" She thought about that, hard, like the doctor she was. "...oh, like intrusive thoughts, but entire memories…” She took in a short, sharp breath of surprise. “That must be awful. No wonder you..." She stopped, and slumped, a little. "Oh."

She looked at the other woman, a little sad. "I think I suddenly understand you better now." Bracing her shoulders, she continued, "If you've been surviving with that, and all of us being... as we had been... then you are stronger than I knew. For my part in that, Ellie,  _I_ am sorry."

Ellie nodded, resisting the urge to shuffle or make another joke. “Yeah,” she said flatly, “Oh.” She looked down at her hands as she wrung them together, her voice dropping to something just above a whisper.  “I… get it worse than she does. Don’t know if it’s because she was through it before or not, but… yeah.” She blew out a breath, puffing her cheeks as she straightened up. “Anyway. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Angela let out a quick breath, and found herself smiling, feeling almost... light, in a way she had not, in some years.. "I should... I should call Fareeha. Let her know that we’re actually holding the memorial, and that there will also be a wake. It has been far, far too long."

“Yeh,” Ellie Guillard smiled back at her. “Maybe it’s time I finally met her, f’real, too.”

“Perhaps… Yes. I think, perhaps, I would like that.”


	2. the far too many we have lost

A soft steady beep woke Winston from his nap.

He rolled from his side onto his stomach, then climbed down from the carefully arranged set of mattresses and beams he’d made into a small sleeping platform in his current hideaway. It wasn’t much - not that a climate controlled deluxe storage unit was much of a safe house, regardless - but Winston was pretty certain it beat a ruin-strewn cave.

He crossed to the small desk and terminal he had set up for himself, and checked the clock. It was well off the normal schedule for checking in with Genji or Hana.

 _Huh_ , he thought. _Angela. That’s unexpected._ He accepted the audio-only connection, after verifying its prefix code. “Good afternoon, Angela.”

“Good afternoon, Winston. You sound sleepy - I hope I didn’t disturb you.”

“No, of course not - I was just taking a little nap, that’s all. How has your vacation gone?”

“It isn’t the usual time to visit the Alps, but when family calls, one answers.”

“Even in the worst of times, family comes first,” he replied, answering the code prefix. “Are the accommodations pleasant?”

“Quiet and comfortable, I’m pleased to report,” she said, completing the exchange, and the scientist relaxed, relieved.

“This was rather unexpected, but I’m glad to hear from you. How are things with the MSF?”

Angela’s smile dimmed slightly. “As it happens, I’ve...taken a brief leave. Have you spoken to Hana lately?”

Winston shook his head. “Not for a few weeks. She reached out to me because of some unusual activity - Slipstream was on the move, and appeared to be working with Sombra, but her goal was...unclear.”

“Ah.” Angela’s smile became a bit crooked. “You might say that _I_ was her goal. Or at least...asking for my help.”

Winston’s nostrils flared and he gave a soft ‘ah!’ of realization as that information provided sudden clarity. “Odile. She needed your help because something happened to Odile.”

Angela nodded. “She did.” Her face softened, her eyes dipping. “I am sorry for not telling you about this earlier. Hana wished to spare you some pain.”

“I suppose I can understand that,” Winston admitted as he tried to take all of that in. After all, the last time he’d seen Slipstream had been a uniquely painful experience, thanks to the presence of the parallel Lena who had temporarily replaced her. “So, ah...how did it go?”

“Better than one might have expected. Perhaps... better than we had any right to expect. That is something best discussed in person, I think, and… well.” He heard the doctor sigh, across the line. “This is not entirely unrelated. Those of us who are here… we have decided it is long past time to accept a certain reality. We wish to hold a memorial, at Gibraltar, for Lena Oxton.”

 _Oh_ , he thought, pain in his heart and stomach, and he closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a long breath, slowly. “I...yes. I understand. You’re right, she’s… never coming back. I should know that, by now.”

“No, she’s not. Slipstream -  _Ellie_ \- is not Lena, and never will be. But now that she and Odile are truly away from Talon - no longer in their control - they may be people we can work _with_ , and not against.” He heard a tsk across the signal, as she corrected herself. “But that is not why I want to do this. It’s not for her, it’s not for Lena - I need this for _myself_ , to move on. And I think you might need it, just as much.”

“Ellie?” Winston tilted his head to the side slightly. “She decided to change her name?”

“More that she decided to choose one, for the first time. From what I have been told, Sombra may have given her a bit of a push to do that.” Angela shrugged. “A way to make the situation clear.”

“I think I can understand that. I certainly never enjoyed being called ‘Subject 28.’” Winston said softly, “I know she isn’t Lena. But it doesn’t seem like a good idea for her to attend…whatever you had in mind.”

“No,” Angela interjected,  “and she agrees - she has no right to be there. But afterwards, we will go to Annecy, to hold a wake. We’ll drink too much, tell stories about her, and try to remember the good things, to laugh...” she said, breath heavy, pain seeping through.

“Ah,” he said, softly. “I like that. It’s… just as overdue, really.”

“I agree. But Winston - the memorial was my idea. The wake was _hers_.”

“What?” he said, the shock in his voice. _“Why?!”_

“She wants to know who Lena was. To us. To try to understand.” Angela paused, taking a breath to steady herself. “She’s curious, and is willing to control herself in ways I’ve never seen before, to do it.”

“Uh,” Winston said, completely dumbstruck by what he was hearing. “She…”

“It’s _empathy_ , Winston. For someone other than Odile.”

His breath left him in a huff, tinged with his lingering bitterness. “I didn’t know she was even capable of that.”

“The longer I’m around her, the more obvious to me it is that she really isn’t Lena. But, on her own, away from her creators… she’s becoming a _person_. A real one - one who is _desperate_ for us to accept that. Winston, I don’t know why, but she  _cares_ what  _we_ think.”

Winston grunted acknowledgement, even if he still wasn’t sure if he could say he agreed with her. “And she already owes you a favour.”

Angela bristled with a sharp hiss of breath. “Do not speak of it like that, I’m quite certain that would destroy any progress we might have made. But … it would not hurt to realise that while Lena Oxton is gone, at this point Ellie Guillard  _hates_ Talon. That means she does not have to be  _our_ enemy.” She laughed, a little. “Listen to me - I sound like Gabriel. But I am sincere, in both parts.  _We_ need this - and we need what it might bring, as well.”

Winston rubbed at his chin as he considered that, and finally nodded with a low grunt. She really wasn’t wrong. “Gibraltar, huh?”

“That is for us. The wake, for her - and for us, just as much - is at the Chateau Guillard in Annecy, the day after.”

He gave it a hard thought. It was dangerous, without question. Possibly very much so. But at the same time, Lena Oxton did deserve a memorial - as did all they’d lost - and… if they could regain some hope while giving the dead that honour… so much the better.

And above all else...she had been his first, and best, friend.

“I’ll find a way. Somehow - I’ll be there.”

* * *

It had been a quiet flight.

Slipstream - _Ellie_ , Sombra reminded herself - had realized it was a bad idea to fly them down, so the hacker had made a few arrangements for a charter flight. Everyone - even Jesse! - had put on appropriate outfits for the occasion.

When Fareeha Amari met them at the airport, Sombra was a little surprised to see her in a somber black suit instead of a dress uniform, but it made sense after a minute. Helix’s uniform wouldn’t have been appropriate for this, and the “new” Overwatch hadn’t really used uniforms, before it had all come apart.

When they arrived at the ruins of the Watchpoint, she saw that Winston was waiting near the cliffside next to a set of chairs arranged in a loose semicircle, a dress shirt and jacket somehow stretched over him, and a tie knotted around his neck. There was a little podium, as well, that she realized he’d probably salvaged out of one of the base’s old conference rooms.

Sombra hesitated as the others left the car. _One, two, three… not enough seats. He didn’t realize… Maybe I shouldn’t have come, after all,_ but as Winston approached, Satya made a calming gesture with one hand, and stepped over to craft one last chair.

* * *

They did not use any religious trappings. Lena’s faith had been in the people around her, not scripture.

Once there had been a few exchanges of handshakes and nods, everyone except Angela took a seat. Walking to the podium, she bowed her head for a moment. She had spent most of the night trying to figure out what to say, and all she’d managed to do was fill a wastepaper basket with her attempts.

Finally, something felt right, and Angela managed to raise her head to speak despite the weight she still felt on her shoulders.

“The first time I met Lena Oxton, she was five minutes late.”

That got fond laughs from Winston and Jesse, and that weight finally felt a little easier.

“She would always insist she was just in time.” Angela let the tears come, this time, and found a way to smile through them. “And the more I remember our time together, as friends and as colleagues - I realize that she was exactly right.”

* * *

Satya stood at the podium and felt the texture of the faux wood and metal beneath her fingers. Solid workmanship, to have survived so many years of abuse and neglect, yet still be in such good shape.

“I did not know Lena for as long as many of you, or as well,” she finally admitted to the other mourners. “But when I left Vishkar...she was one of the first to approach me, and offer comfort.” Her lips quirked in a bittersweet smile. “I had some difficulty recognizing that, at first...but I was grateful for it, once I understood.”

She considered the woman waiting at Chateau Guillard compared to the one she had known. “Lena was a woman who always believed the best in others. That things would turn out as they should. Who could find love even in her worst enemy.”

Satya looked out at the others, then bowed her head respectfully. “She was my friend, and I will miss her.”

* * *

“I did not know Lena well,” Hanzo admitted softly. “But it was through no fault of her own.” Jesse caught his eye, and it helped him keep his confidence. He’d found serenity in his captivity, but it was still a fragile thing at a time like this.

“I was not accepted by many in Overwatch,” he continued. “But Lena treated me as an equal, even when I was not certain I deserved that honor.”

“I am grateful for her kindness.”

* * *

Sombra glared a little at the podium. _Stupid traditions,_ she thought, _built to make you nervous._ Deciding the hell with it, she stood in front of it, and leaned back, testing its ability to hold her weight. Fortunately, it did.

“I’m not here to talk about Lena,” she said. “Sorry if that’s rude. I didn’t know her, really. I’m here to talk about my friend. To talk about Widowmaker.” She noticed Angela’s eyebrows furrow as the doctor reached over and took Fareeha’s hand, and she nodded. “I know. Not the most popular person in your crowd. You lost Amélie when she was made - and I lost my favourite spider as she decided to become Odette - before Talon took that from her too.” She met Angela’s eyes, and the doctor met hers, and looked down, accepting the inclusion.

“What is there to say, really? She was more of a person than most of you ever gave her credit for. She was cold and she was weird. She liked guns and shooting people. That was what Talon wanted. She liked coffee and she liked wine. That was useful for her cover, so they put up with it. But she also secretly liked macarons; I’d smuggle them in for her. She liked strange European comic books; I’d find scans online, show them to her when nobody was looking. And for some weird reason, before she fell in love with Lena Oxton… she liked me, too. A little. As much as she could.”  
  
Her breath caught in her chest, and she took a moment before she tried to speak again, to keep the flutter in her heart from escaping. “I liked her. I miss her. Sometimes, I miss her a lot.”

And the mask slipped, just a little, as a tear threatened to run down her cheek. “I’m out of here. Next!” she said, stepping down, before it could slip any further.

If anyone noticed her crying as she sat down, they were smart - or gentle - enough to keep it to themselves.

* * *

“I’ve stood at too many of these podiums,” Fareeha said somberly. “It’s one of the parts of being an officer they don’t tell you. You believe you’ll make the right calls. Take care of your people. Make sure they come home.”

The thought of everyone they’d lost in the last few years hung over her,  and the ones she’d lost with Helix and in the army, too.

“They don’t tell you that sometimes you’ll do everything in your power - make the best decisions you can - but still lose people.” Fareeha’s throat felt tight, and she had to swallow hard to clear it.

“This is the second time that Lena’s friends have stood in a place like this and mourned her. Because she was brave. Because she was kind. Because she was a person who opened her heart to everyone...because she deserved a better fate.”

Fareeha’s voice was rough as her tears started to fall again, but she didn’t let herself stop. “Lena believed the world could use more heroes, but I think what the world really needed was more people like her.”

* * *

When Fareeha finished she looked to Jesse, but he just shook his head.

He had stories - but the ones he most wanted to tell were more fit for the wake than for this. Besides - he didn’t think he’d be adding anything that hadn’t already been said.

* * *

“Of all the people who could be here,” Winston said, _and are still alive_ , he thought, “I think it’s safe to say that I knew her the best. She was my best friend - the best friend I’ll ever have. In so many ways, she was the best of us, the most… forgiving, the least willing to give up on others.” He looked down, towering over the small podium before the smaller assembly. “It is grotesquely unfair that it was her downfall.”

He took a deep breath, pausing, for a moment. “But if there is anything - anything at all - we can do to honour her, to truly honour her, it would be to bring that forward. To carry that spirit within us, that she can no longer carry herself. To be the ones who… the ones who…” His shook a bit, and sniffled, thinking, _no, no, I will do this._  “The ones who keep that indomitable sense of  _hope_ alive.”

“We have had so many taken from us, these last few years. Lena. Reinhardt. Mei. Torbjorn. Ana. Widowmaker,” he nodded, just a little, to Sombra, who nodded back, just a little. “Odette. Amélie. And... other kinds of losses, as well. The world is a hard, and brutal place, but … if part of that hard and brutal world is willing to try to be better... “ he closed his eyes, gathering his emotional reserves the best he could, shaking more, sniffling hard, “...we have to let them try. We have to help. It’s … what we are. It’s what we  _need_ to be. It’s what the world needs, from all of us, right now, no matter how hard that may be sometimes. Because, most of all... “ he reached up, rubbing at his nose with his left hand, pounding the sides of the podium, just a little bit, working to keep himself together, “...it’s what Lena would’ve wanted. It’s what, even now... it’s what she would’ve _done_.”

He took a long, hard breath and wiped at his nose with a tissue, pulling himself together. “I have a couple of dozen stories I’ll want to tell - but not here. I’ll save them for the wake. Angela, do you have the scarf ready?”

“I do,” the doctor said, the woman who probably knew her second best, bringing it forward.

“She was wearing this the day she took that test flight in the… experimental aircraft, the one that started all this. It came back with her from that accident, and… I don’t know why I kept it, but I did. Since we don’t have a body, it seemed only fitting to let this stand in its place.” He took it, and placed it into the metal box above the open fire they’d built at the edge of the cliff, past the old launch pad, and let it burn, brightly, becoming ash, burning hotter until those ashes floated, driven upwards by the heat and rising air, up, up, into the twilight sky above the Mediterranean sea.

“Good night, Lena,” he whispered. “And… goodbye.”


	3. that which may yet be found

Ellie tried to keep her nerves under control as she looked over the bar that they’d put together in what had originally been a study.

She and Odile had selected a few things from the wine cellar that had seemed appropriate for the occasion, and then gone into town for the rest. A couple cases of lager, a few darker, heavier beers, two bottles of sake, a decently sized bottle of bourbon, and a handle of tequila that Odile thought she could recall Sombra drinking.

(Ellie was pretty sure that she’d seen a matching bottle in the farmhouse, but she hadn’t exactly been paying attention to the contents of the liquor cabinet.)

She’d rearranged a stack of glasses for the third time when Odile’s hand closed over hers, firmly leading her over to one of the couches.

“You are fretting over nothing. The glasses are fine, and there is more than enough to drink.” Odile squeezed her hand lightly, searching her eyes carefully. “Are you certain about this?”

“No,” Ellie admitted as she let Odile draw her into a hug, “but when has that ever stopped me?” She huffed out a breath as she listened to the sluggish beat of her Swan’s heart. “Haven’t been certain about almost anything since this all started. But...we’re here now, yeah?”

“We are.” Odile ran a hand down her back, then gently encouraged her to sit up. “They should be here soon.”

* * *

Jesse wasn’t surprised to find no one awaiting them at the dock. Neither Slipstream nor Odile seemed to have been given much in the way of social training - Talon probably hadn’t considered it worth the time - but he’d put together a mental map of the place fairly quickly after arriving, and didn’t have much trouble leading the group of mourners to their hosts.

He put his hand on the door and turned to catch Winston’s eye. “Not sure they expected us to bring back anyone ‘cept Ree.”

Winston shuffled a bit nervously on his knuckles, but gave a nod of understanding before gesturing to the door. McCree nodded in reply, and headed in first.

Slipstream stood waiting next to a table that had been covered in bottles of alcohol, wearing a black button down shirt that blocked the glow from her anchor, a white tie knotted around her neck. Her mouth was set in a flat line, but her posture screamed nervousness.

That was a pretty far cry from her usual behavior. Most of the time he’d tangled with Slipstream, her body language had been confident, often bordering on arrogance. Even when he’d arrived with Angie, the assassin had kept herself cool and in charge - or at least appeared so.

 _Suppose that’s the difference between when she’s put herself on a mission and when she’s trying to just get by,_ he thought, nodding just the slightest bit to himself.

She managed a smile for them as they came in, but her expression went blank with shock as Winston padded in, angling himself to fit in through the door frame.

“Been a while,” Slipstream finally managed. “Didn’t really expect to see you.”

Winston straightened up a bit with a cough. “I...ah...felt it would be rude not to join everyone.” He tilted his head slightly to Odile, who had been silently observing them from behind the bar. “Thank you for having us.”

Odile seemed a bit more comfortable around Winston, at least, and returned the nod. “It was our pleasure,” she demurred politely, then gestured to the drinks. “Please help yourselves.”

For a few minutes everyone concerned themselves with fixing themselves up with their beverages of choice, but once that was settled the room lapsed into an increasingly awkward silence, as if no one was quite ready to take the lead.

 _Well,_ Jesse thought as he slugged back a healthy portion of his whiskey, _I guess that means it’s my turn._

“Hey, doc,” he called out, “you remember the pub in London?”

Angela looked up from her wine. “The pub... _oh!_ Yes!” She chuckled, and raised her glass to her lips. “Yes, that was the day you met, wasn’t it?”

“Mmhmm.” Jesse set his whiskey aside. “This was back...oh, ‘68, I guess. That big mess with Null Sector.”

Winston looked over with a frown. “You weren’t on the strike team. In fact, I seem to recall that Blackwatch operations were supposed to have been suspended during that.”

Jesse winked. “I was there for what you might call recon support. Unofficial, like.”

Hanzo snorted beside him, his voice edged with mock reproach.. “You mean that you were spying.”

“Darlin’, that is an _ugly_ word.” Jesse’s smirk got a little wider as Hanzo’s slight flush darkened. He wasn’t sure they’d get back to what they’d had, but it was nice to see he could still get a reaction out of Hanzo’s usual stone faced act. “So - as I was sayin’, I’d helped out with a little bit of _recon_. But me and the main team didn’t actually get to meet up face to face, so when I found out they were grabbing a well earned drink at a pub on the outskirts of the Row, I decided to stop in and say howdy.”

Angela’s wine was almost gone now, and it seemed to have helped her relax a bit. “She had never met Jesse. When she had been piloting the…” Her eyes flicked over to Slipstream, and just as Winston had, she avoided using the name of the old aircraft. “When she was a test pilot, there was no reason for her to be involved with Blackwatch. After she... came back, the only Blackwatch contacts she had were with some training specialists. She hadn’t been formally introduced to many of their operatives.”

Jesse nodded as he refilled his glass. “Which is a long ‘way round of sayin’ she didn’t know my face. So - I find my way to the ‘Hoof and Haunch’, walk myself inside, and this little thing spins around and says - ‘Sorry, mate. Bit of a private party going on.’ An’ I go, ‘Well, hon, that’s exactly the kinda thing I’m looking’ for,’ and she looks me over, laughs, and says, ‘nothin’ personal love, but you’re barkin’ up th’ wrong tree with me, and it’s not that kind of party anyways. But there’s a leather bar over in Lewisham I think you’d like.’”

That got a few laughs out of the gathered, though the high falsetto and truly terrible accent he used while imitating Lena probably helped.

“Now, since some of y’all won’t know - that place is a pit. So I get all serious, and go like - ‘Nice t’meet you too, agent. My name’s Jesse McCree. Blackwatch.’ And I’m expectin’ her to get all apologetic, right? But she doesn’t even flinch, she just grins, nods once, slams back the rest of her pint and says, ‘Well, in that case - I’m _sure_ you’d like it! Welcome to the party!”

Chuckles spread around the room, as Angela giggled, leaning against Fareeha, and asked, “She had you figured out from the very first moment she saw you, didn’t she?”

“Before she even turned around,” he said, with a little bit of a snort. “I never stood a chance. Here I go tryin’ to pull the scary black-ops superior-officer act, see if I can rattle ‘er a little, and she refers me to what I know for a fact is the _worst goddamn leather bar in England...”_ He laughed, softly, with a genuine grin, looking into his beer. “That was a woman who just would not be intimidated.”

He took another sip from his mug. “Reminds me of another story, actually - if nobody minds me takin’ two turns in a row…”

“No,” Fareeha said. “Please - another.”

* * *

Winston sat quietly in a corner, as Jesse told another story from London, looking between the cowboy, and Slipstream, and Odile, and back, and forth, and back, and forth. He hadn’t offered a memory, yet, though everyone who had been at the memorial knew he had several - he’d come in, said a few hellos, let himself be introduced to people he thought he once knew, and sat down, silent ever since.

 _She laughs,_ he thought, _just like Lena._

He’d never heard her laugh before - at least, not for humour, as opposed to a derisive jeer in the field. _I didn’t think that was possible, either._ He put his hand to his chin, thoughtfully. _I’d’ve thought that would hurt more than it does. But… it doesn’t._  He stared at Slipstream - no, _Ellie_ , he thought to himself - realizing how differently she moved.

 _She **is** like a cousin_ , he thought. _That … kind of works. The evil cousin, but still. Different, but… related._

He chuffed, a little, as Jesse changed a bit of the story in a way that edited out an embarrassing mistake and made Jesse look a good bit more clever than he’d actually been. Winston had been there - well, not there, directly, but on comms - and he knew better.

“Excuse me?” he said, interrupting the former Blackwatch agent. “I think you’re leaving something out.”

Hanzo put one hand to his brow as McCree flinched - but covered it quickly - saying in his heavy drawl, “I’m pretty sure I’m not…”

“Oh,” Winston needled, with a little bit of a grin. “I think we both know you _are_.” He shifted forward, a little further into the small crowd. “Let me fill the rest of you in on how that  _really_ went down.”

* * *

Slipstream walked beside Fareeha as there was a break in the storytelling, for food - they’d had the event catered, rather than trying to cook, and much of the little crowd was still picking through the fruit and cheese and meat and bread trays which served as dinner.

“Wasn’t she ever … scared?” she asked the rocketeer, a little perplexed. “All these stories, not once…”

Fareeha looked down at the smaller woman, the assassin, and saw plain confusion on her face.

“Wasn’t that… real? Was that all Talon?”

“No,” the Egyptian replied. “She was afraid. Often. She had an airplane explode around her and she vanished into a nightmarish… well. I do not have to tell you. Of course she was scared.”

“Yeah. That’s more like what I thought.” Ellie picked up some grapes, adding them to her plate. “Like when she stopped flying.”

Fareeha shrugged. “I suppose. But everyone gets scared; some people just push past it. They are the heroes. When it mattered - when it really mattered - she did what was needed anyway, every single time.” She gave Ellie a considering look. “You’re doing that right now, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Slipstream looked down at her plate, and said nothing, as she realized she honestly did not know.

* * *

“You don’t know what it’s like,” Sombra said, after the night had worn on, “looking at someone who looks exactly like your best friend - your  _only_ friend, for a while - and knowing she’s someone else entirely.” Ellie’s mouth twisted, and her temper rose, but she kept her hands down, and the hacker continued. “That’s what I do, half the time I see Odile. Particularly if I just spot her out of the corner of my eye. It’s not as bad as it could be, with the blue gone, but… it’s close enough.” She glanced over at the senior assassin, who had looked over, hearing her name. “Sorry, but it’s true.”

The teleporter blinked, surprised, anger distracted by her assumptions being so very wrong. “I… maybe I do, a little. I see…  _her_ memories, occasionally. Of Odette.”

The hacker nodded, and took another sip of tequila. “What is it like, then? Having someone else’s memories in your head, I mean.”

“It’s fucking awful, mate.” Slipstream felt sloppy, and pretty far into her cups, at this point, and a little vulnerable, but… _fuck it, that’s what this is for, innit?_

“It’s not the facts she remembers. That’s fine. I’m a damned good pilot and never took a day’s lessons in my life. I love flying, and she was too scared to, anymore. It’s…” She shuddered. “It’s how … they come with feelings, right? Feelings that aren’t yours. Feelings that were _hers_.” She slammed back the rest of her pint, and slammed the empty mug onto the table. “Feelings you know  _you_  wouldn’t’ve felt,” she said, and her stomach twisted a bit more, that little clench she’d been enduring all night just a little tighter as she struggled to explain.

“They make y’feel like… y’aren’t real.” She glanced gratefully at Odile, as her wife leaned over to her, put her hand on her neck, and silently moved to refill her mug. “Thanks, Swan - I could use that.”

She put her chin on the table and looked into the filling glass. “There’s so much of her, right? Even with Talon wiping a lot of it away, she had a childhood, and was a teenager, and… she had just... _decades_  of memories. I’ve only had a few years, even now.” She lifted herself up for a moment, as Odile put the pitcher back down and held her, hands rubbing across her upper back, just so. She sniffled, took another pull from the refilled mug, and hunched back down. “So it makes y’feel like you’re just… made up. Like you’re fake, like you’re… facepaint brushed over a real person, and she’s gonna wake up any minute now, and when she does, she’ll just wipe you off, and then you’ll just be gone. Forever.”

Her face looked haunted as she finally looked back up. “And every time another one of those memories comes up, or someone tries to tell me I’m Lena Oxton…” She shook her head, slowly. “I get another punch of that, right in the gut.”

She drew another pull from her mug, and swallowed, hard. “ _That's_ what it feels like.”

“That’s rough, girlfriend.” Sombra gave Slip… Ellie a careful look. “ _Are_ we friends, Ellie?”

Ellie looked up, a little surprised and a little confused. “I mean...I did drag you halfway around the world.” She looked down at her drink. “You helped me, and then you stuck around for...all this. I didn’t even have to shoot you! So...yeah. I think. I think we could be, if you wanted.”

“I think I do. Do you?” she asked. “Is that a thing in your world, now?”

“I… I think it is,” and Ellie smiled a little, crying a little, tipsy a lot more than a little, and hoping she’d remember what this felt like in the morning. “Haven’t really had them, you know? Okay. Sure. Let’s be… friends.”

Sombra grinned, but there was a bit of Olivia in it as she raised her glass towards Odile. “How ‘bout you, _chica?_ You remember me? Or, I guess...do you remember Widowmaker remembering me?”

Odile tilted her head slightly, and Sombra felt a chill down her spine as she remembered Widowmaker doing that exact same thing, those yellow eyes seeming like they were seeing straight through every mask she wore.

“It is not the same for me. Until leaving Talon, she was ‘reconditioned’ often. I think it made it difficult for things to stay, even before…” Odile trailed off as she searched for the right word. “Before I _was._ But...she liked the macarons.” She shared a private little look with Ellie before she met Sombra’s eyes again. “I like them, too.”

“You remember,” Olivia breathed, and huffed a little laugh with a wobbly smile. “I guess you can get all the macarons you want on all your own, now, though…” She looked down at the table, but then back up. “But I’m glad she did,” the smile firming up, a bit. “And… that you still do.”

* * *

Winston gathered up his things, such as they were, and started to head towards the door and the boat to Annecy beyond as the late night - or early morning - sky started to brighten, just at the edges.

The unexpected sound of Slipstream’s voice from behind surprised him enough to make him jump.

“I owe you,” she said.

Winston’s hands came up defensively as he turned, apprehensiveness plain on his face.

“No! No, no, no, sorry, _shit!_   No, not like that,” Slipstream said quickly, seeing his expression, waving her hands, no. “I mean I  _owe_  you. For, y’know, what you did. For Odile. For...um. Her. And me. Last time.”

“We both do,” Odile agreed as she stepped up beside her wife.

“I thought you considered that settled,” he said, still wary.

“It’s not just for your help,” Odile answered, golden eyes firm. “Although,” she smiled at Slipstream before continuing, “I am still more than grateful for that. No, it is for… part of the realization that we had a _choice._ ”

“Yeah,” Slipstream agreed as she scratched at the back of her head. “That we could be _free_. I suppose you could say I don’t owe you so much for that as I owe the  _other_ you… and their Odette… but… y’helped. And you were nice enough to Odile while I was trapped, over there. So. Yeah. Thanks.”

 _It’s not like I had that much choice,_ he thought. _But I see what Angela means. They’re trying, aren’t they. They’re really, genuinely trying._

He nodded, slowly. “You’re welcome. This has been a...” he searched for words, “a highly _illuminating_ few days.”

“Yeah,” Ellie nodded. “Illuminating. That’s a good word.”

“For us all, I think,” Odile agreed.

“Really?” he asked, looking directly at the teleporting assassin.

“Really,” she said, meeting his gaze. “I think it has. I get it, a little, now. Maybe...maybe she wasn’t as afraid all the time as I thought. Maybe… I wouldn’t ever’ve been her friend, but… I can see why you were. Why you all seemed to like her so much.”

“Well,” he said, with a little bit of a chuff. “I suppose…” He looked down at his hands, thinking of his own words, earlier, at the memorial, and looked back up. “I suppose that’s a start.”

Odile tilted her head as she looked at him, then raised her chin a bit. “Perhaps, yes. A start.”

Ellie pursed her lips, concentrating, eyes hard as she struggled with her thoughts.

“Yeah,” she said, with a little bit of a nod. “Maybe…”

One side of her mouth poked up, just a little.

“...maybe it is.”


End file.
